The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

===================

Poem written in 1942 by American poet Theodore Roethke [1908-1963]

I am reminded of a few moments in Guyana almost 20 years ago. At home weekends I used to have a few drinks by myself; rum/vodka, cutters, music.

My non-alcoholic drinking partner was my 3-year-old son. At some delightful point I would dance with my little boy. We both loved the fun. His mom would take breaks from the kitchen and watch the two of us.

My son is 22 years old now, no longer as close and chummy with me. Which makes me appreciate the nostalgia this poem has unearthed.

Maybe, you GNI fathers and sons have a similar experience.